


The Fox

by Anarfea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Masturbation, Missing Scene, Multi, Oral Sex, Season/Series 02, Sexual Fantasy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Sex, molliarty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:31:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarfea/pseuds/Anarfea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Close your eyes and pretend I’m Sherlock Holmes,” he murmured.  “I don’t mind.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fox

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the Perv Beta Squad: 3littleowls, Alutiv, and Prurient_curiosity

Jim’s mouth was on hers the moment they were through her door, and she found her back against the wall of her entryway; his fingers interlaced with hers, holding her hands at shoulder height.  His tongue took possession of her mouth, exploring with skill and confidence she wouldn’t have expected from the milquetoast IT guy who helped her crack codes on Sherlock’s website and brought her coffee.

They’d shared a cab home from the Fox.  She’d expected a chaste kiss at the door; he’d surprised her by pressing up against her back while she entered her entry code, whispering, ‘let me take you to bed, Molly,’ into her ear, and when she’d said ‘yes,’ he’d smiled like a cat with cream.

She struggled for breath as his lips moved from her mouth down her neck, tongue tracing delicate spirals over the place between her jaw and ear.  “Sherlock thinks you’re gay,” she blurted.  Oh god, that was _not_ how that had been supposed to go, at all.  She shouldn’t have had that second pint; she had no filter even when she was sober.

Jim broke their kiss, and laughed, not seeming the least bit offended.  “Does he, now.  Why?  Because I engage in a bit of personal grooming?”

Your underwear, she almost said, and stopped herself.  His shirt had hitched up while he’d been kissing her, and they were visible above the waistline of his khakis, and neon green.  A small slice of skin was showing, too, and the faint depression of his hipbone.  “Did you really slip him your number?”

“No.”  He kept right on smiling, not looking caught out or guilty at all.

“Oh.”  Molly felt suddenly unsure how to proceed.  She’d expected him to be flustered, if he’d done it, or confused, if Sherlock had lied.

Jim leaned in towards her, bracing one hand against the wall, and whispered into her ear, “I gave him _your_ number.”

Blood filled her cheeks and ears and suddenly she was the one who felt guilty, though she wasn’t sure what for.  She took a step back from Jim; he suddenly felt too much in her space and it made her uncomfortable.  “Why would you do that?” she stammered.

“Because I hoped he might call,” he murmured, closing the space between them again, “I know you want him as much as I do.”  Jim released his right hand and went to work on the buttons of her cherry print cardi with his left, opening them one by one, sliding his hand inside to cup her breast.  He traced his fingertips along the line of her bra, over the sensitive skin next to her armpit, and she shuddered.

“If you--”

He tried to press his lips to hers again, and she turned her head.

“--really want _him_ \--”

He bit her neck.

“--why bother with me at all?”

He let go of her hands, clasped her face between his palms, and looked at her with an intensity that made her squirm.

“Because you are _perfect_ , Molly Hooper.”  He brought her wrist to his lips, kissing her pulse point.  “You have steady hands and a strong stomach, both of which are traits I admire in a woman.”  He sucked her index finger into his mouth, and the world went white for a moment, until he withdrew it and grasped her wrist again.  “You are quirky and clever and lovely.”  He lifted her arm over her head, pinning her wrist to the wall.  “And because Sherlock never noticed you, not really, and it’s nice to know that, just this once, I was more observant than he.”

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“Only trying?” He rolled the ball of his thumb over her nipple.  “I’m slipping.”

“All this flattery.  He thought it was _your_ number.  He noticed _your_ underwear.”

“Did he?  I’d hoped they made an impression.”

“You think he’s gay.  You gave him my number, but you thought he’d call to reach _you_.”

“Molly, darling, you are clever.  Yes, I thought he might call _me_ , because let’s face it, seduction isn’t exactly your area.”

“God, you sound just like him.”

“Is that a turn on?”

Her knickers were sopping, and she realized it was, it _really_ was.

He pressed his thigh between hers, and she rutted against it before she was conscious that’s what she was doing.

“I take it that’s a ‘yes’?” He spoke the words into her neck, and the heat of his breath there made her moan.  He pulled back, smirking, and slid his hands down her sides to her waist, unbuttoning her trousers.

She arched her pelvis forward as he worked them down over her hips, sinking to his knees in front of her.  Molly slumped back, head hitting the wall with a dull ‘thunk’ as he pressed his mouth against her mons, tonguing her through the fabric.

“Close your eyes and pretend I’m Sherlock Holmes,” he murmured.  “I don’t mind.”

 

They eventually made it to Molly’s bedroom, though Jim had stopped to snog her against every surface along the way.  She had toed her shoes off into the puddle of her trousers and knickers in the entryway, but she still had her socks.  Her cardigan was on but opened, and he’d unfastened her bra underneath.

Jim backed her against the bed and pushed her down onto it, lifting her hips up and scooting her onto the edge.  She tried to wrap her legs around him, but he pulled them vertical instead, grasping her ankle and peeling back her sock.  He sucked her toes into his mouth, and she clenched the bedspread and squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to keep still as his tongue worked into the spaces between her toes, and that was maybe even better than when it had been against her clit.

He did the same with her other foot while nudging off his own shoes, and then he tucked his hands under her hips, pushed her up the bed until her whole body was on the mattress, and straddled her.  “Do you still think I’m gay?”

“No,” she grinned.  “I’m sorry, I’m just paranoid.  I have terrible luck with men.”

He stripped off his T-Shirt, revealing a St Anthony medallion.  Molly had always wondered what he had on that chain.  Jim’s body was slight and lean but with defined muscles, and her eyes slid down the diagonal line of his obliques to the green underwear again.

She chewed her lip.  “Do you really think Sherlock is gay?” she asked.  Oh god, it was one thing for him to say he didn’t mind her thinking about him, and quite another to _talk_ about him while they were in bed.

Jim laughed, throwing his shirt onto the floor, and unbuttoned his trousers.  He rolled onto his back, shrugged them and his pants down his hips, and kicked them off the bed.  “I don’t think Sherlock knows _what_ he is,” he said, drawing her in for another kiss.  He slipped the cardigan off of her shoulders, helping her out of the sleeves.  “I think he’s a virgin.”

“No!  At his age?”

Jim pulled her bra off and sucked her nipple between his teeth, biting lightly.

She moaned.

“The man can barely manage basic interaction.  You think he could handle intimacy?”  He chuckled, and there was something cold about it.  

Molly swallowed, suddenly uncertain, and then Jim looked up at her, his face softening into a smile again, and she relaxed.

“You think he could, with the right woman?”

She blushed, and then, sick of him making this about her when he was clearly as besotted as she was, retorted, “you think he could, with the right man?”

He grinned, eyes bright with mischief.  “Indeed, I do.”

“You’re a lot more confident with me than you were with him.”

“Because I dropped the dish, you mean?  Just a bit of acting, darling.  Better to let him think he intimidates me.  That way I won’t intimidate him.”

“He intimidates me, a bit.”  Molly admitted.

“He shouldn’t.  He’s so tightly wound.  Start pulling his strings and he’ll unravel.  Come right apart.”

She thought of Sherlock losing control under her, muttering incoherently, one hand shoved in his mouth while the other gripped the sheets, eyes clenched closed, glistening curls sticking to his forehead.

“Lovely, isn’t he?” Jim whispered in her ear, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.  “Those lush lips are positively obscene.  Wouldn’t you like to feel them move against your cunt, watch those wide, alien eyes looking up at you from between your thighs, searching for your approval, for confirmation that he’s a good boy?”

Molly closed her eyes.  The image was nearly too much.  Jim talking to her this way was beyond strange, but it was so ridiculously sexy she didn’t care.  She shifted onto her back, parting her legs slightly.

“I doubt he’s done it before, but he’s a quick study.  And you’re easy to please.  The success would encourage him.  Would you want that?  For him to bring you off with his mouth?  Or maybe--” his fingers traced down her belly and into the cleft between her labia, dipping two fingers into her, almost without effort “--you would prefer those hands, so precise, so dextrous.”  He slicked his fingers with her wetness, brought them out again and rubbed her clit, tracing circles.

Molly arched against his hand, angling towards his fingertips, and he chuckled.

“You prefer penetration, then,” he said, and thrust his fingers into her.  She thrust back, clutching the sheets for leverage, and Jim worked in a third finger, turning his body sideways so his arm was against her belly palm side down, fingers curling up under her pubic bone as his palm rocked against her rhythmically.

“Please,” she moaned.

“You’ll have to be more specific, darling.”

“Fuck me.  Please.”

He pulled his hand out from between her legs and slapped her clit.  It wasn’t hard, but it startled her.

“Turn over,” he murmured.

Molly rolled onto her belly, obliging if somewhat confused, and heard Jim opening her bedside drawer.  She expected to hear him tearing a condom packet; instead, there was a soft plop as he opened the bottle of lubricant she kept for use with her toys.

Jim curled up against her back, kissing her nape and shoulders, and placed a cool, lube slicked finger against her arsehole, rubbing gently.

She stiffened.  “Do you want--because I’m not sure that--”

“I won’t do it until you beg me.”

It wasn’t as though she’d never tried it.  Only a handful of times, though, and she usually felt a bit of friction, discomfort.  Not pain, exactly, not enough to stop, but it left her feeling nonplussed, afterwards, and vaguely resentful.  It wasn’t what she wanted.  “I wouldn’t wait on that one.”

Jim straddled her and slid his torso against her back slowly, laying open mouthed kisses over the length of her spine.  When he reached her hips, he slid his hands underneath them, canting her backwards towards him.  He licked between her labia again, then worked his tongue into her, fucking her with it, and that was lovely; it didn’t fill her the way she was aching for, but it was pleasant, and Jim’s nose brushed against her arsehole and that actually felt better than she would have thought.

He pulled back and slid the fingers of his other hand into her slit; they didn’t need lube for that, she was dripping onto the sheets, now, and then he put his tongue against her arsehole, began to tease it open, and she shuddered, wrapping her arms around her pillow.

“I’m a very patient man, Molly,” he said, and curled the tip of his tongue inside her.

 _That_ was amazing, but Molly felt a bit grateful that he couldn’t see her face buried in the pillow, because it felt more than a little filthy.  She arched her back, lifting her hips for him, and felt keenly abandoned when he pulled back and reached into the drawer again.  This time, she heard the distinct sound of a foil wrapper opening, the pull of rubber on skin.

He slid behind her again, propping himself over her on one arm, taught abdominals rubbing against her back, his erection sliding along the cleft between her cheeks.  “Don’t worry,” he whispered in her ear, “I always keep my promises,” and then the head of his cock pressed against her swollen lips, teasingly.

She pushed back against him, and his hand went to her hip, holding her in place as he drew back.  Molly grit her teeth in frustration.  “Damn it, stop playing games and _fuck me_.”

He chuckled.  “So eager.”

She heard the cap of the lube bottle snap again, and a dollop of cold fell onto her arsehole.  She yelped.

Jim placed his cock against her slit again, his thumb over her other hole.  “May I?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice rough, and Jim sank his cock and his thumb into her at the same time, then simply held her, unmoving.

She gasped; his cock was in to the base and his thumb to the second knuckle, and she felt the predicted stretch and burn that faded to a dull throb with each heartbeat, as her veins pulsed faintly around his thumb.  He curled his fingers around the swell of her arse but kept his thumb still, and began to roll his hips, slowly working his cock in and out of her.

“Oh thank God,” she said, and held still, letting him--she could only think of this as letting him take her; his thumb didn’t hurt but she was very much aware of it and she certainly wasn’t going to move in this position and that was--he built momentum, thrusting harder--that was unusual for her, because she would have preferred to fuck him back, or to ride him; it was easier for her to come that way.

“You would rather be on top, wouldn’t you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You would rather be on top of _Sherlock_ , wouldn’t you?”

He pressed his thumb deeper, and her brain went offline for a moment, and she stammered out a “yes,” without having formed a conscious thought.

“You and me both,” he whispered, and _that_ was a thought--she’d heard the rumors of course, that Sherlock and John were lovers, but she’d never given serious thought to the idea of Sherlock being penetrated, perhaps in much the position she was in now.  “We couldn’t both be on top at the same time, of course, but we could both fuck him.”

She thought of cradling Sherlock’s beautiful face in her hands, his features twisting in ecstasy as Jim snapped into him, of kissing his perfect, heart shaped mouth as he moaned into hers, of wrapping her legs around him, around both of them.

“Or maybe,” Jim murmured, removing his thumb and straddling her, squeezing her legs together with his thighs, easing himself down over her back and propping himself up on her elbows over her, “you would prefer to be the center of attention.  For both of us to fuck you.”

The friction of her clenched thighs made Jim’s every thrust almost overwhelmingly pleasurable, and at the same time it was simply not enough; her clit was aching for stimulation, and she began to writhe against the sheets.  God, if she were really on top of Sherlock, she would grind against the base of his cock, she would--

Jim bit the nape of her neck, and her train of thought evaporated.  He pushed himself up on his forearms, taking his weight off her.  “Touch yourself.”

She wriggled her arms free of the pillow, working them down between her legs, and he settled his weight back on her, began rutting into her again, and that was better, she could rub her clit, now.

“Are you imagining him underneath you?” he asked, breath hot against her ear.  “ _I_ am.  I’d love to kiss him over your pretty shoulder.”

And that--watching Sherlock kiss and be kissed, seeing his mouth and lips working in a way she’d never see if he were kissing her--that thought sent wetness gushing into her hand.   She struggled for a better angle, couldn’t quite get her clit where she wanted and push her hips back against Jim at the same time.

He pulled out, looking down at her, and she felt frustrated, empty.  “Put your fingers inside yourself.  Show me what you’d do if you had Sherlock’s cock in you. ”

Molly had never been self conscious about touching herself during sex, but being coached through mastrubation was another thing entirely.  Her cheeks flushed, and she was grateful that her face was mostly in the pillow as she rocked against her fingers, ground her clit into the heel of her palm.

She felt the coolness of the lube again, and slowed long enough to let Jim slide a finger where his thumb had been, and then a second.  

“Keep going,” he murmured, “as if you were trying to make him come.”

She started again, and Jim matched her rhythm, thrusting his fingers in time with hers.  “I could feel him through you, if you took both of us at once.  Would you like that?  Feeling our cocks slide together on either side of you?”

She moaned, fucking herself harder with her fingers, and Jim pulled his out, propping himself over her again, lining his cock up to her teased open arsehole, making circles with the head against her entrance.

“Can you take it?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, and she _did_ want it, was shocked by how much she wanted it, by the rawness of her own need.

“Beg me, then.”

This whole, absurd, twisted fantasy had gone too far, but it was simply too _hot_ to worry about being embarrassed, now.  “Please,” she begged.  “I want it.  I want both of you.”

She felt the now familiar burn and stretch again when the glans slid through the first sphincter.

As he’d done after he’d inserted his thumb, he went still, kissing the back of her neck and her ear. “Show me how much you want it.”

She began to move again, and he stayed in place, letting her push back against him, control the rhythm, as she rubbed her clit against her hands again.  It actually was rather splendid; she supposed she just must not have been turned on enough, before.

“I want to feel you climax.”

She was kneading her clit in earnest now, curling her fingers inside herself, and then Jim began to move, slowly, matching her rhythm again, like he’d done with his fingers, only this was so much more intense than fingers.  He squeezed her legs closed with his again, tightening his forearms against her sides, putting more of his weight on her, and she was completely pinned, scarcely able to move.  He thrust harder, fucking her into her hands; she twisted her fingers feebly, wrists aching, but she was so close that it might just be enough.

“Say my name when you come.”

She moaned, he was slamming into her now, and the pleasure was just starting to tilt into pain, but her orgasm was almost within reach; she could ride it out, she would, and then it was there, and--

“Jim.”  She barely choked out the word; his weight was on her and his thrusts pushed the air from her lungs.

He twisted his fingers into her hair.  “My name.”

The waves of her climax were still crashing through her, around her fingers, around Jim’s cock.  She felt her heartbeat in her arse, and it was too much.  He pulled insistently at her hair again; he wanted something from her but she’d already given it to him, she’d let him have everything he wanted and--“ _Sherlock_.”

Jim shoved into her once more, hard, his fist clenching around her ponytail, and then he collapsed against her with a moan, shuddering.  Molly felt her muscles quivering, around Jim and her fingers, the dull throb of her heartbeat.  Jim rolled them both onto their sides, spooning against her, his lips brushing her hair.  He slid his hand between them, gripping the base of the condom, and she winced as he pulled out.  She was probably going to be sorry about this in the morning.

 

After she’d finished using the loo, Molly shrugged into her dressing gown and padded into the kitchen for a glass of water, her mind reeling.  She wasn’t sure what exactly she’d done with Jim, or what it had meant.

The text alert noise on her mobile beeped from inside her bag.  She’d left it on the floor in the hall, with her trousers.  Molly fished out her phone to check the message.

 

> I’m sorry I informed you your boyfriend was gay.  I meant to be helpful.  John has advised me my words may not have had their intended effect.-SH

She stood staring at her phone for nearly a full minute before she realized she had been holding her breath.

 

> John also says I should apologize for stealing your number off Mike Stamford’s phone.  Apparently, it’s a violation of privacy.-SH

She gently set her mobile on the counter and folded her dressing gown closed, tying the sash around her waist.  By the time she reached her bedroom, Jim was already dressed, sitting on the edge of her bed tying his shoes.

“I got a text from Sherlock,” she said.

He grinned wickedly.  “Did you, now?”

“Yes. He knew it was my number.”

“Of course he did.”

“You lied.  You _did_ give him your number.  You _were_ trying to pull him.”

He looked at her and laughed, needlessly affected, devolving into a fit of coughing.  “You’re just getting that now?”

She pursed her lips together to keep them from trembling.  “Was Sherlock right, then?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Does it matter?  I just gave you the best shag of your life.  I didn’t lie--I _pretended_.  So did you, as I recall.”

“Get out.”

He smirked.  “You’re going to regret this, Molly.  It isn’t easy to find someone with whom you have--common interests.”

“Out.”

“Goodnight, darling.”  He kissed her cheek.  

She pushed him back roughly and slapped him.

He chuckled, rubbing his face.  “That’s the spirit.  Try it with Sherlock sometime.  He’ll respect you more if you show some backbone.”

Molly wanted to say something cruel and witty, something Sherlock would say, but Jim had already turned his back on her.  He strode down the hallway and into the kitchen, and then she heard the door latch behind him.


End file.
